It reminded him of Max, the little man inside the glass, but not in a good way. It made him think of the things Max had said about being trapped. Being owned.

Setting it back with a frown, he continued down the aisle, squeezing around a woman laden with bags, chirping noisily at her communicator.

"A book'a some kind, maybe?" he offered R, with a glance over his shoulder. Thinking of Eva and of the one she'd given him. All those poems he was slowly working his way through. "Er maybe a puzzle. Somethin' to keep that mind'a his busy."

He'd only met the man the once, but that was nevertheless his impression of him.

Mind sharp as a tack.